Tales from the Boar's Head
The Incident, Early-January, AB 002
"Barkeep. Drinks all round," the stranger said as he walked into the public bar of the Boar's Head Tavern.
He looked to be a stranger in the City, having the general dress and style of an Outsider, rather than a Native. However, his clothes were of an expensive cut, and he seemed reasonably well to do. Mind you, on the day after New Year's there were a lot of people in the bar who'd be happy to claim a free drink from any poor sap who offered, so Danny Andrews, the barkeep on duty, glanced over towards the owner for his approval to open the tab.
Winston Cadogan, owner of the Boar's Head Tavern, had been a sergeant in the Army until about twenty years before, and had got lucky with the spoils of the various campaigns in which he fought. Enough so, that when it came to demobbing, it had been enough to purchase a whole three-story block of the ravaged City. More importantly, given that on one side, the building faced onto both the more upmarket Concourse, where the Gentry, the nobles and the upper middle classes looked for entertainment; and on the other it faced the rather less well-to-do Upper Mitre Lane; he'd seen the opportunity to cater two the two very different clientele that that would bring in.
He'd hired several of his old comrades, and set to work restoring the building and developing two different establishments on the site: the more upmarket La Sanglier, facing the Concourse; and the Boar's Head Tavern, which catered to a more every day clientele. Nowadays he was a prosperous Burgher of the City, living with his family on the top floor, and he made a point of refusing to answer questions about which side he served on in the Civil War which had previously split City and Country.
Danny caught his eye, as he was walking the floor, offering the greetings of the season to his regular customers. He excused himself from the table where Clem Carver, Woody Barnard and his wife, Robin Cutler and Ben Locklear were telling fishing stories, and headed over to the bar.
"Is there a problem?" he asked his barkeep.
"This gentleman wanted to buy drinks for everyone," Danny answered, "I thought I'd better check with you that that was alright."
"Does this City have some law against generosity?" the stranger demanded, as if mortally offended to be kept waiting.
"Not at all, sir," Winston replied, smoothly, "but it's a busy evening, and some of our customers…they enjoy their pints."
"I'm new in the City, and want to get to know my neighbours," the man answered, "buying drinks seemed a good way of doing that. But if you don't want my business, then I can go elsewhere."
"Of course we don't want you to do that," Winston replied smoothly, "I pride myself in running a hospitable establishment. I just see part of that as making sure that my customers aren't taken advantage of. But as long as you're happy, make yourself at home, and I'll ring the bell."
The man looked at him, obviously trying to figure out if Winston was taking the mickey out of him, but many years as a sergeant had taught the latter how to keep a perfectly straight face when dealing with officer-types. And this guy came across as one of those.
"Okay," he answered, after a pause.
The bell hanging behind the bar was an old ship's bell, which he'd put up to warn people when it was nearing closing time. However, it also got used when someone was stupid enough to want to buy drinks for the Boar's Head's entire clientele. Winston took hold of the rope, and rang it loudly, then when he had the attention of his customers, he bellowed in his best parade ground voice.
"This gentleman is buying drinks for all as wants them."
And then he called over Ray Thomson and Ned Michaelson, his two peacekeepers, to make sure the generous man in the good clothes wasn't mobbed by the Boar's Head's thirsty patrons.
* * * * * *
About an hour later, the man was still buying drinks, although after the initial round, he was concentrating on talking to certain kinds of people. Minor officials. Shopkeepers. Property landlords. The kinds of people who were towards the top end of the Boar's Head's patrons. And Winston was beginning to get a little nervous about the size of the bar bill. While the man looked like he was good for it, he was still wondering whether he should ask him to settle up at least part of it.
He was pondering what to do when he became aware that the general chatter in the bar was dying down. He looked over towards the entrance, to see a group of four men coming in, acting like they owned the place. And at least two of them were armed with it.
"Now we're for it," muttered Danny, darkly.
"Why?"
"Them's Gentry. I recognise a couple of them. The really tall one is Lucius, and the one who looks kind of like him is Matthew: those two are brothers they say. Sons of the madman who tried to destroy us all back around the Civil War."
The fact that they were Gentry also made Winston's heart sink. He'd heard stories of what they sometimes got up to: the trouble they could cause, and the blood they'd been known to spill. Until now, the Boar's Head had been blissfully behind the parapet on that one, but apparently that was about to change.
"And the others?" he asked, trying not to sound dismayed.
"The thicker built one is a son of Treasurer Geran. Erik, if I remember rightly. And the tall, lanky one is the Mayor's, I think, but I don't know his name."
"Prince Wolf? No…I'd recognise him. Never seen this one before."
"The Mayor has two sons, apparently. This one hasn't been around the City much before, but he's been living in the Castle since the King's wedding last month. You know, the one where they had all the trouble."
Winston was fascinated how Danny knew these things. But then, he'd caught him reading the Star occasionally, which loved to gossip about the folks from the Castle. Personally, he didn't hold with that kind of thing, but he knew a lot of people didn't feel the same way.
He looked over at the four men again and considered making a silent prayer to keep his place safe, but the way the lanky one moved told him it wasn't going to help. He looked like another officer type, which meant he knew his way around in a scrap. And more than that, Winston knew a man who was looking for trouble when he saw one. The Mayor's son, if Danny was right, was definitely here to cause problems.
He made a B-line for the stranger who'd been buying the drinks, while the other three headed for a table which had suddenly cleared for them, and Winston's heart sank even further. If the lad caused trouble, he'd be out a lot of money when the bill didn't get paid.
But if he really was the Mayor's son, surely he wouldn't go out of his way to cause trouble, would he? Not knowing his father's opinion of that kind of thing.
"Hello Sebastian," the young man said as he reached the bar, a genial look on his face which didn't reach his eyes.
His voice was surprisingly cultured, and if nothing else, that would have identified him as someone who didn't usually visit the Boar's Head. And he certainly didn't sound like the kind of thug who'd walk into a bar and pick a fight - which unfortunately seemed to be exactly what he wanted to do. So much for 'surely he wouldn't go out of his way to cause trouble' Winston thought, sadly.
As he turned towards him, the stranger buying the drinks looked honestly shocked to see him. And he didn't seem any happier when the one called Erik moved closer to his friend. The owner moved round in front of the bar, so he was in position to break it up if anything kicked off, uncertain where the first blow would come from. But then the stranger seemed to relax, and seemed to go back to his previous affable self.
"Artur Acker. How nice to see you," he answered.
Winston could see that like the man he was addressing, his pleasant expression was only skin deep, and he winced at his tone, which seemed calculated to set the boy off.
"Who's your little friend, Artur?"
"I'm Erik, son of Geran," the other man said, and then turned his gaze on the two men who'd been drinking with the stranger, who he'd obviously recognised, "and I will be informing my father of this."
The speed with which they disappeared into the crowd was impressive.
"So what brings you here, Sebastian?" the one called Arthur asked the stranger.
"I'm looking for a new place to live," came the answer, "and I was asking these good people for some advice."
"So you chose Amber? That doesn't seem particularly wise. Not given your affiliations."
"You know how it is…land of opportunity. New beginnings. That sort of thing."
Arthur moved to the bar and ordered a round of drinks for his the table, then glanced over at the stranger, who promptly indicated for that round to be added to his bill.
"That's very kind of you," he answered, and put a friendly arm over the other man's shoulders, "and in the spirit of new beginnings why don't you join us for a drink."
Winston thought he saw the man's eyes glaze over for a moment, and a trace of fear cross his face. But then he was walking over to the table with the two who had spoken, and soon the five of them were drinking, chatting an apparently enjoying each other's company.
He heard Danny breathe a sigh of relief, when he thought the worst was over, but Winston wasn't so sure. An instinct for trouble had kept him alive in the army, and he could definitely feel something in the air between the stranger and the younger man. And trouble involving Gentry was probably going to end in violence. He made sure Danny was okay and then went back out onto the floor to carry on greeting his customers, while keeping a weather eye on the Gentry's table.
* * * * * *
The five of them had been talking for about an hour when Winston noticed the stranger getting to his feet, looking flustered and apparently with no intention of heading back to the bar. He moved strategically into position, with Ray close at hand, to make sure that the man wasn't about to duck out without paying. Moments later, people around the bar started screaming and one or two started running for the door. And in front of his eyes, Winston saw the stranger collapsing to the ground, an expression of surprise on his face and a blade in his back. The hilt was still in the hand of the one called Arthur. It had happened so fast that he hadn't even seen the boy move.
Shocked rigid, he stared at the assailant and saw the look in his eyes. He'd seen that look before. In the bloodlust of a siege, or on the face of his men, when they'd lost friends and were willing to do anything for revenge. He saw a rush of pure pleasure pass through the younger man and, just for a moment, he thought he saw flames in his eyes. He dismissed that as impossible almost immediately. In the meantime, the stranger was expiring in a mass of blood and gurgling breath.
The screams began dying down and soon an uncanny silence fell around the bar, broken by a single voice.
"Shit. Ian's going to be pissed."
Winston reckoned it had come from the Gentry's table. He turned to Ray and ordered him to call the Constables. Then he looked back at the body on the floor, and the man standing over it. Then he saw the attacker close his eyes, hang his head for a moment, as if he was thinking, and let his sword point drop to the floor. When he lifted his head again, and opened his eyes, he almost seemed surprised to see the blood on his blade. Pretty much all eyes were on him now, and as he realised that, he seemed to make a decision.
The blood stopped welling from the victim's back - although Winston reckoned he should have a few pints in there still - and Arthur dug something out of his pocket. Then he held it in his hand, and began to mutter. Maybe he really was crazy.
However, he didn't seem anything like as crazy as he had. Instead, he pulled his victim to his feet and seemed to push him forwards. The man disappeared, leaving the young man standing beside a pool of blood on the floor. Winston had seen the Gentry do tricks like that during the war, but he'd never expected to see it in his bar.
And then, as he watched, the assailant grabbed one of the towels from the bar and cleaned his blade, then put it back in its scabbard. Once that was done, he wiped his hands on the towel as well, and looked back at his companions. As far as Winston could tell, even they seemed surprised at what he'd done. The one Danny had said was called Matthew even looked like he was going to be sick. Which was a bit of a poor show in Winston's mind, seeing as he was supposed to be some kind of shit-hot general. And then the young man seemed to become aware of how silent the bar was, and cast his eyes around the bar to see what would happen next.
"The Constables is coming," Ned called from over by the front stairs, but Winston stayed where he was.
"So 'oos goin' to pay 'is bar bill?" Robin Cutler called from his table, and the young man's attention was drawn to him.
Winston saw the look on his. It seemed somewhere between annoyed and amused, and he had that the distinct impression Robin was now thoroughly regretted opening his trap. Robin just didn't know how to shut up, and it had got him into a lot of trouble at times.
But instead of being angry, the younger man just smiled. "I will."
He headed for the bar, and handed the towel back to Danny, who took it in stunned silence. Winston joined his barkeep to give him moral support and backup if he needed it.
"Another round for my friends," Arthur said, politely, as if he hadn't just killed a man in cold blood, "and what's the reckoning for both the damage and the inconvenience? After all, there's no reason for you to be out of pocket because of our disagreements."
Disagreements? Winston mumbled a figure which he inflated for the potential trouble when the Constables arrived, and was surprised when the man reached into his pocket, pulled out roughly the right amount of cash. He handed it over without argument, then picked up the tray of drinks for his friends and headed back to his table as if nothing had happened. Winston had seen some cold bastards in his time, but this one pretty much took the cake.
* * * * * *
The Constables arrived as the young man was sitting down, and Winston was pleased to see that they were being led by Charlie Barron. The sergeant was a mate, and often popped into the Boar's Head when he was going off duty. There were three other Constables with him, which meant that he was taking the threat from rowdy Gentry very seriously. Sadly, he thought, if the boy decided to go homicidal again, even Charlie wouldn't be able to stop him.
He crossed over to them, and shook Charlie's hand.
"Thanks for coming so quickly," he said.
"Good crowd tonight, Winston," Charlie asked, and Winston realised that despite the murder, surprisingly few people had left. Instead, they were milling around, pretending to mind their own business, but obviously wanting to know what happened next. It was like watching people watching a carriage smash, "So what's the big fuss? Your Ned said something about a fight. Someone got stabbed in the back?"
"It weren't a fight, it were a murder," piped up Woody's rather too gossipy wife Jessaly, "I saw it with my own eyes. That one… …" as she said that she pointed at the Gentry's table, and Winston cringed, "…the one with curly hai., He stabbed him what made that there bloodstain."
Charlie looked down to see that there was, indeed, a bloodstain. Probably getting on for a pint's worth by his reckoning. But it didn't seem to belong to anyone. Still, he walked over to her and asked her to tell him what she'd seen. From off to the side, Winston heard her telling pretty much the whole story, but he could tell that the sergeant wasn't sure what to believe. He looked over at Arthur, impressed despite himself. No body, no murder.
Still, Charlie was good at his job. While he had difficulty reconciling Goodwife Jessaly's statement with the missing body, and the fact that she'd said the attacker had 'picked him up and disappeared him into rainbows' made it sound like she was well gone in her cups this evening, it was obvious that something had happened in the Boar's Head. The pool of blood proved that.
He set his Constables to talking to the other customers, and stood by Winston at the bar. As he propped himself up, wishing he could have a pint but knowing he couldn't afford to when the Gentry were involved, he watched the young man and his friends, and the ever-increasing number of tankards and wineglasses on their table.
He'd been called to incidents involving Princes Lucius and Matthew before. That was the downside of working out of the Concourse station. And he knew that every time it involved opening a can of worms which would be best left closed. Usually it didn't involve this much alcohol. He was going to have to talk to them eventually, but he wanted to make sure he had all his facts straight before he did. Especially if it was true that the murderer - if there had even been a murderer - was the Lord Mayor's son.
In the meantime, the supposed attacker looked as if nothing had happened. He was sitting back in his chair, feet up on the table, laughing and joking as if he didn't have a care in the world. Despite the fact that everyone kept looking over at him, nervously. Maybe he was as drunk as Goodwife Jessaly. There certainly didn't seem any other reason why he'd be so relaxed, because he had to realise that the Constables were going to want a word eventually.
About half an hour later, Charlie and the Constables convened by the door, and compared notes. As was inevitable when interviewing fifty people, the stories were confused and contradictory. However, the majority of them did at least correspond on the basics: that the tall, lanky one with the curly hair had stabbed a male victim in the back, apparently killing him, and then disposed of the body through some unknown method. One or two even mentioned seeing rainbows - same as Jessaly had - although Charlie couldn't quite fit that bit into the story.
At that point, he took his life in his hands and crossed to the table where the Gentry were sitting. The Constables stood behind him for moral support, but left him to ask the questions. The men were polite enough, but from the moment the first one opened his mouth, it was obvious that they had no intention of fully co-operating with his investigations. Especially the alleged culprit, who was almost daring Charlie to accuse him.
He knew for sure that the whole incident was rapidly moving above his pay grade when the words "National Interest" passed the lips of the one called Matthew. Charlie sighed, and wrapped up his questioning. Someone higher up was going to have to deal with this one. He thanked the Gentry for their co-operation - he even managed to keep a straight face when he said it - and then he crossed over to Winston.
"What happens now?" the older man asked.
"I've done what I can, and I'll make my report," Charlie answered, "I certainly don't get the feeling that they're going to cause any more trouble tonight, at least."
"Even the one who did it?"
"Well, I can't speak to what he'll do if he has much more to drink. But my gut's telling me that he isn't planning on running anyone else through tonight. Do you want to make a formal complaint?"
"I don't know. It's the first time I've had a Gentry incident in here, so I'm not sure what the best thing to do is. I understand that things get messy if us commoners get too stroppy about complaining."
"Well, what usually happens now is I talk to my Captain, he talks to the Mayor, and the Mayor decides if there's anything he can do about it."
"It's his son who caused the trouble. I can't see him doing anything."
"I don't know," Charlie answered, "he's alright is the Mayor. And I could see him being pretty pissed off with his kid for pulling something like this. But I guess we'll see."
"Let me know what happens, eh, Charlie?"
"I will."
"One for the road?"
"'Fraid not. I need to get back and write this up. Let wiser heads than me decide where to go from here. But if there's any other trouble, call me."
"Thanks."
Charlie nodded to his Constables, and they made their way out of the bar. Once they were gone, and it was obvious that the entertainment was over for the night, various of Winston's customers followed them out. And soon, there were only about twenty people left drinking, besides the Gentry at the table.
The four of them sat chatting for quite a while, although from what Winston could see, most of the talking was between the brothers, Lucius and Matthew. Erik, the third one, commented occasionally but the tall one, the troublemaker, just seemed to be sitting listening. And in the end he was the first to leave. Winston eventually saw him drain his beer and get to his feet. And at least this time, he made it out of the Boar's Head without spilling any more blood.